


Collision

by standoutinacrowd



Series: I Have Died, So That One Day I Would Be Able To Meet You [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, VampCarm, the one in which Carmilla has known Laura since she's a little kid, they meet a few times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standoutinacrowd/pseuds/standoutinacrowd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part One: Basically centuries-old vampire meets her human soulmate, without knowing.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mircalla Von Karnstein

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of my brain farts brought to you, dear reader. (If there are any.)  
> I got the idea for this while studying Pharma and got to the dementia part.  
> Don't know why dementia though, because that has nothing to do with it.
> 
> This will be a series of one-shots (which all kind of lead to a story) posted whenever I feel like it.  
> Maybe. No, JK, I will post all of it eventually. I like this too much.  
> Plus: It's not my usual third person POV.  
> Something new, yay!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [...]
> 
> You pick her up and hand her over to her parent as you smile for her. A smile that only a handful of people have seen in those centuries that you lived. A smile only reserved for the few innocent souls that are left on this planet.  
>   
> Children count to them, but you never have found kids particularly endearing. This one however has been in your near reach lately and you couldn’t help, but watch your neighbours in the last few weeks, because they are so, so happy and you are so, so jealous of their mortal life.
> 
> [...]

You see her for the first time when her mother -your new neighbour Karen- lets her play in the backyard of the house she is sharing with her partner. They are not married. That’s what you know about them and maybe that’s why the people in this stuck up town distance themselves from her and the man she chose to have a daughter with.  
  
  
It is 1999 for god’s sake.  
  
319 years later and people still have not changed that much. At all, even.  
  
You like them the most from all the people that live here. Maybe that’s why no one else tries to engage with you.  
  
  
The kid is energetic and very, very nosey, so it is no wonder when you see Karen’s daughter one day crawling through that tiny hole in the white picket fence that separates your yard from theirs, but you don’t mind.  
  
A laugh escapes your mouth, before you find yourself in front of the tiny infant. Usually you would say it is irresponsible of the parents to leave their child unattended, but it is not the case here, because Dan’s outside, and they even thought about getting barriers, so that she only could play in the backyard. No one had anticipated this to happen.  
  
You kneel down and immediately are met by a look of wonder. She reaches out for you. You let her touch your outstretched hand and she takes ahold of your forefinger and middle finger. With your free hand you dare to go through her soft, golden hair. She is an angel.  
  
  
“They grow so fast.”, Karen is looking over the fence, a smile splaying on her lips.  
  
You are a vampire, but sometimes you are so captivated by certain things that you don’t pay attention to your surroundings. So naturally you are a little startled, but you don’t let it on.  
  
“Sorry, we should get that hole fixed. I caught her some days ago, doing that.”, she bends down and tries to coo her kid and persuade her to go back to mommy. The child doesn’t comply.  
  
“How old is she?”, you ask, as the kid lets go of your hand and crawls a little nearer to you, only to look at you, as if she is studying your features. You hold still, doing the same to her.  
  
“She is turning two in August.”, the mother responds and is getting impatient, “Come on, Laura…”, the kid - _Laura’s_ \- attention shifts to Karen.  
  
“Laura.”, you repeat, her head snapping back to you in no time. As if you were the centre of her universe.  
  
You have experienced this with kittens. However that’s because they can sense that you are one of their kind, but you weren’t aware of the same effect on children.  
  
“Time to go to your mom, hmn?”, you pick her up and hand her over to her parent as you smile for her. A smile that only a handful of people have seen in those centuries that you lived. A smile only reserved for the few innocent souls that are left on this planet.  
  
Children count to them, but you never have found kids particularly endearing. This one however has been in your near reach lately and you couldn’t help, but watch your neighbours in the last few weeks, because they are so, so happy and you are so, so jealous of their mortal life.  
  
You wanted kids. You were only 18, when you were murdered and your 18-year-old self had entirely different feelings towards being recreational, but you wanted them. You had a total of 4 siblings, you being the second eldest and you loved taking care of Gretchen, Anton and Ludolf alongside your older sister Johanna.  
  
They loved you.  
  
Sometimes you reminisce, and surprisingly your impeccable memory has them all restored away in the back corner of your mind. Your Mutter that was the strictest person you knew, your Vater who didn’t even let you talk to your male cousins, because he was that protective of you.  
  
They loved you.

* * *

  
You’ve never stayed very long at one place, but the small town has grown on you and people only got suspicious, when you told them you were older than 25. Which you did in the city you lived before. That was the reason for you to move away from there in the first place, so you still have some time with moving again.  
  
Karen Hollis has become one of your closest friends and one evening she asks you how a 20-year old could afford a house like yours. You go on and tell her about family inheritances and that both your parents were abroad and that you go to the university in the neighbour town. It strikes up a conversation about your personal life. She doesn’t question you, when you tell her that you haven’t found someone to spend forever with.  
  
  
For her you are only in your twenties and got plenty lot of time left.  
  
It adds up to her perfectly and she tells you that it will happen eventually.  
  
She doesn’t know that your forever and hers are two completely different things.

 

* * *

  
When Laura turns four, you decide it is your time to leave. You pack up the few belongings that are dear to you and glance around the house. Everywhere you go, you leave behind a piece of your heart. This time it is actually harder, because you have made friends here. Karen has become the sister you never were allowed to grow old with.  
  
You step outside and see Laura playing hide and seek with another girl. The moment she spots you, she waves frantically.  
  
  
“Mircalla!”, she is grinning, and you can’t help but give her that _one smile_ in return.  
  
“Hey kid! Is your mother home?”, she nods and instantly runs back into her house, dragging her parent outside by her hand. Smart kid.  
  
  
“Laura, what-”, Karen spots you and you gesture her to come over, “Sweetie, go play with your friend, yeah?”, Laura nods vigorously and you are actually worried that that child is going to suffer from concussion one of these days.  
  
  
“I’ve had this present for Laura for a while. I actually meant to give it to you sooner, for her birthday, but I kind of missed that.”, you hand over a small package that you have hidden behind your back the whole time.  
  
You were busy apartment hunting in Europe. Rovinj was going to be your next destination. Your home for the next few years or so.  
  
“Mira, this is too sweet of you.”, Karen chuckles, and wants to turn around and call her daughter, but you stop her. You tell her to give it to her later and say bye.  
  
  
Karen doesn’t know it is good bye, when she waves at you.  
  
You never were good with bidding farewell.  
  
You want to keep it that way.  
  
It is less heart ache.  
  
So you say.

* * *

  
You return almost exactly eight years later. The house you used to live in is inhabited by an old couple. You drive by your former neighbourhood, just because you are back in the States and actually live just a forty-five minute drive away from this particular town. This is where you found real, human friends for the first time, so you came to cherish this.  
  
Of course you haven’t planned on catching up with Karen for real. You would be twenty-eight by now, and you don’t look a year older than when you left. You can’t risk getting noticed, but you just wanted to see an old friend. Even if it is from afar. The awareness that this whole situation might be a little odd, and that you shouldn’t be feeling for humans like this hits you, when you decide to finally leave, but then you spot _her_.  
  
A girl with long dirty blonde hair steps out of the house and gets in the car with her mother. It is dark and you check for the date. It is August 29. A thought occurs in your mind and before you can think too much of it, you are following the car to a diner. The foolish girl you still are, you head in behind them, carefully of course.  
  
  
Upon arriving in your booth a young blonde waitress greets you and leans over, so that your view on the two people you were watching gets disturbed.  
  
“Hey there, what can I do for you?”, she asks you and you look up to be met with a pair of piercing blue eyes. Her name tag says ‘Elsie’. You order a cup of coffee and observe mother and daughter, talking animatedly on the other side of the restaurant. You turn on your sharp hearing and filter Karen’s voice, because that’s what you can remember and then you hear Laura’s voice for the first time. It’s sweet. She has grown so much and you feel somewhat proud of the young girl she has become.  
  
Your heart -the dead one- jumps a beat, when you hear that they are celebrating Laura’s birthday, because she apparently has been away with her cousins on the real occasion. How could you ever forget?  
  
Because you feel guilty, you give the waitress -Elsie- a hundred and tell her that Karen’s and Laura’s orders are on you and that she should keep the change. After that you wait in your car. An undefined amount of time goes by and you see mother and daughter leaving the diner.  
  
At this point you don’t know why you are sticking around. You know that when they pass the threshold of their house, you will be gone. Gone into the night, like you never have been there at the first place. It occurs to you that you haven’t, because everything you experience is relative. It is not real, if no one is there to acknowledge you. You don’t exist in the realms outside of your own mind.  
  
The thought terrifies you.  
  
You are a no one.  
  
You follow the navy minivan, just to make sure that they both get home safely and this could possibly be your worst mistake. Of course you only know it five minutes later, when you become first hand witness to a terrible accident.  
  
The Camaro you are sitting in makes a screeching noise, as you slam the brakes and get out of your vehicle. All you see in the next few seconds goes past you like a blur.  
  
The car that hit the minivan is trying to drive back and your first instinct, to just get in the way of it and stopping it, leaves your mind immediately. You would have to do a lot of explaining. Instead you memorise the number plate and rush to the driver’s side.  
  
You yank open the door and Karen has gets ahold of your forearm and cocks her head towards the passenger’s side. You look her in the eye and see the wheels turning in her eyes. She is recognising you. _Damn it._ You thought you could be stealth. Just left out. Then life urges you back in.  
  
  
It really is like the first time, all those years ago. The day you got murdered in that back alley on the way to your home, you thought you were out.  
Instead undeath greeted you with its foul hands and you have condemned yourself ever since. It was really ironic.  
  
  
All your senses are heightened, and you understand why, when you see all the blood that is slowly covering your hands. Karen’s whole lower body is not visible from under the-  
  
“Laura…”, she is moaning in pain and you understand immediately.  
  
You rush over (trying to maintain a somewhat human-like speed) and open the passenger’s door. The girl is unconscious, but looks more than okay to you. (Plus you hear her steady heartbeat and breathing.) You pick her up. Your undead heart begins to ache, when you see the necklace you gave her mother to gift her for her birthday all those years ago. The moment is a fleeting one, when you hear Karen murmur something and you look at her. There is a flash of panic in her expression and you follow her eyesight to see that the hood of the car has caught fire.  
  
You are a vampire and there are a few things that can kill you.  
  
Fire was one of those deadly things.  
  
So you pick Laura up and in vampire speed you bring her to a safe distance, before you get up and want to get to Karen, but the explosion that follows, throws you off your feet and the back of your head meets the hard asphalt.  
  
There is not much you remember.  
  
Maybe it’s because you do not want to remember much of it. You hate your impeccable memory.  
  
You just make sure to call the ambulance and the cops, giving them a brief description of the other car, and leave, when you see Dan rushing into the hospital.

* * *

  
Almost half a decade flies away again and you find yourself on a train to Paris.  
  
You are very much invested in a copy of Kafka’s _The Metamorphosis_. You have read it the year it came out. 1915 was a dull year. World War One was very inconvenient for you. Many of your kind have died in explosions and fires. Especially when some idiotic imbecile invented the stick grenades back then, you were keen on finding a hiding place. Explaining why bullets did not kill you was another reason.  
  
For your fortune a young man took you in on a forlorn castle in the nowhere of southern Austria. He was a gentleman and never wanted anything in return. You probably would have snapped his neck the moment he tried, but it was still nice to know that chivalry wasn’t dead.  
  
  
2015 on the other hand…  
  
You shake your head and go back to the page in front of you, when a female voice brings you out of reading.  
  
  
“Excuse me, are any of these seats taken?”  
  
  
You don’t understand why anyone is bothering you, considering the fact that the myth is true. (The one that says that vampires can radiate a certain uneasiness in order to repel human beings.) There is something about you that people usually don’t like, when they see you from the distance. However the other myth is true too. (The one that describes vampiric creatures to be strikingly beautiful. Luring people in, to snack on them was a thing in the eighteenth century. You enjoyed it very much back then.) You aren’t necessarily a narcissist, but you know, how much of an impact your appearance can have on certain people. You do that with your eyes. Your prey forgets everything in the moment they catch your eyes- if you want it to happen. (Sometimes you take advantage of exactly that.)  
  
  
“You can choose whichever one you want, darling.”, you reply, without looking up. You just see her settling in on the one opposite to your seat over the top of your book.  
  
  
You brush aside your bangs and are heavily disturbed by the sunlight that permeates the big glass window at one point. (Another myth that is true. Light aversion is a thing. Although you don’t dissolve into dust neither does your skin sparkle. Those books are hideous, but only for research purposes you did read them.)  
  
  
“Do you mind, if I-”, you try to ask the woman opposite to you about the blinds, and for the first time take in the stranger’s form. She is beautiful and her doe eyed expression gets to you.  
  
_A wide-eyed maiden fair_ , you think to yourself and simultaneously want to punch yourself in the gut for it.  
  
Honey-blonde hair falling in a curtain around her face, pinkish red lips, cute nose. What a tragedy. She probably is one of those girls that are described in those modern novellas, you think to yourself. Beautiful creatures that you have to fall for and then they break your heart in the most cruel way. Yes, she is that type of girl. And you are the type of vampire to be prey to this kind.  
  
Although you’ve had your share of that tragic backstory. So actually, this is something you already experienced back in the 1880ies.  
  
  
Her beautiful features get replaced by a soft frown and she is gnawing on her bottom lip. You follow that movement. Both of you lock eyes and she tilts her head, much in the fashion of trying to read you. Oh, how many have failed before her. A myriad amount of strangers.  
  
A moment passes, before she surges forward and falls down before your knees and reaches up, plucking away the novella with one and taking one of your hands in hers. She has her eyes wide in wonder and you can’t help but trying to figure out why on earth a stranger -albeit a (very) beautiful one- is doing that to you.  
  
  
“I know you.”, she says monotonously. Determined. So convinced that even you want to believe her. Almost.  
  
Except. You can’t. Because you know better. You will always know better than this young human.  
  
“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m pretty sure you don’t. I would never forget a face. Especially not if it’s as pretty as yours.”  
  
You simply don’t forget. You have an impeccable memory after all.  
  
She seems like she doesn’t believe you though and isn’t making a move to let go of you either.  
  
There is another moment. A moment of revelation or whatever it is, because she lets go of your hand completely (you try to fight the urge to feel her soft, invigorated skin under your palms again).  
  
  
“You must totally think, I’m a creep! Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, I just was so fascinated, because you reminded me of someone I used to know when I was little and I know that it’s like totally not possible, because you are like 20 or something-”  
  
“I am eighteen.”, you interrupt, “That was not very flattering, buttercup.”, you try to hide your amusement.  
  
She blushes, visibly, “Uhm, well 20 and 18 aren’t really that far away, I just uhm- _You know_ …”, she gestures with her hands vaguely in your direction.  
  
What are you supposed to know?  
  
Her left index rests on her chin and then she moves it to her chest and she plays with the pendant on her necklace.  
  
At first you don’t pay attention to it, but then she lets go to rub her temple in a nervous manner, because your smirk is infuriating at times (you know)- and you see _it_.  
  
It is the same necklace that you gave a certain girl that used to live in America. You look her in the eyes and try to make it out. Try to figure her out. Try to piece together the pieces that are already one.  
  
This can’t be it, can it?  
  
  
You win points for subtlety for your next interaction, “Well, I let you touch me, without complaints, sweetheart. Do I at least get your name in exchange?”  
  
She smacks her own temple and leans into her hand, and shakes her head, “Oh god, where are my manners?”, she extends a hand, “I’m Laura Hollis, and you are…?”


	2. Laura Hollis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [...]
> 
> “I know you.”
> 
> It leaves your mouth and you do know her. You are so sure of it.
> 
> And it’s not just one of those familiar faces. That’s the point. She looks like someone special. You are trying so hard to place her, that you jump out of your seat and kneel down in front of her.
> 
> [...]

“Alles einsteigen!”, the man in the blue uniform yells and even though you have no idea, what he just said, you know that you have to get into the train.  
  
You sling your duffel bag over your left shoulder and head in. The first compartment is empty, but you don’t like sitting right next to the toilets, so you continue walking. The second is not occupied either, but you don’t stop abruptly, because the woman behind you is kind of weird and you want to get rid of her by ‘giving’ her that section. (You are relieved, when she really takes up on your silent offer.)  
  
The train has already started to roll out of the station, you see the platform getting farther away, or actually you are getting- you shake your head, because those thoughts are so not important right now. Your hunt for a totally empty compartment ends the moment you see _her._  
  
  
A girl, not much older than you is sitting by herself and reading a worn down copy of a book you don’t know the name of yet. You don’t know why, but you are immediately drawn to her and even though the train ride from Zurich to Paris is only supposed to be seven hours, you feel like you have to spend that time with her.  
  
You slide the door open and she seems unfazed by that- or she isn’t even paying attention to you. Either way, you were raised to be polite, so you ask her for permission and/or if the seat you desire is even vacant. She gives you an answer without looking up.  
  
The bag you have carried, finds its way onto the seat next to the one you are planning on occupying and you plop down unceremoniously, before looking at the girl. She is reading Kafka and you are more intrigued than ever.  
  
Her hair is wavy and dark brown. You almost would say it is black, but as the sun is shining through the big window beside you both, you can make out the brown hues in her mane. Her bangs are falling into her face, as she is reading -what you guess- two hundred words per second. The girl is mouthing them along and just then you realize that it’s probably in another language.  
  
The title reads ‘Die Verwandlung’, and based on what you know of articles, you are pretty sure it is in German. You remember that you are in Europe, but then again- her English was flawless, when she responded you a few minutes ago. Maybe she took German in high school? You took Italian back in your middle school days (you still can’t get through a whole sentence, but that’s _so_ not important).  
  
She looks up, still not at you though, but at the sun that is bugging her apparently. For the first time you see the color of her irises and you smile to yourself -of course everything about the mystery lady would be dark. This only makes you crave to know about her more.  
  
Okay granted, you are generally a curious person and not everyone loves your nosiness, but it’s just in your nature and that’s after all what you do for a living. You haven’t gone to college or university, you haven’t pursued any kind of degree, no -the first thing you did, when you graduated from high school was to sign up for this freelancer project to travel around the world and write a blog on the internet about the adventures you get to experience.  
  
You do that, because the world is so, so big and you want to know everything. You are curious to know the different layers every culture has, and the different cities with corners you have never been to in your life. You are thirsty for knowledge, may it be about a city, culture or a specific person.  
  
That person in front of you, for instance.  
  
She is narrowing her eyes at the sun, as if it just committed the biggest crime.  
  
“Do you mind, if I-”, her voice does numbers on you. It has this low, sultry quality to it and you weren’t aware of that before, but you really could listen to her all day. You wipe away that thought immediately, because you totally sound creepy -not that you ever would tell anyone- and then it hits you, when you study her face, which you can now see fully for the first time, for longer than a few seconds.  
  
  
“I know you.”  
  
It leaves your mouth and you _do_ know her. You are so sure of it.  
  
And it’s not just one of those familiar faces. That’s the point. She looks like _someone special_. You are trying so hard to place her, that you jump out of your seat and kneel down in front of her.  
  
Of course that poor girl is confused as f- but you don’t care. You know her, you’ve known this face since your childhood and it is a familiar ache, because with seeing her all of the memories with your mother bubble up that you tried to hold back for so long.  
  
“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m pretty sure you don’t. I would never forget a face. Especially not if it’s as pretty as yours.”, she is smirking and you see her eyes twinkle in just that familiar way and you can’t shake off the feeling, but you don’t want to seem rude either.  
  
Because then you notice that you’re touching a stranger and she let you. Ohmigod, what would your dead parents say, if they saw you now? So you try to save the situation.  
  
  
“You must totally think, I’m a creep! Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, I just was so fascinated, because you reminded me of someone I used to know when I was little and I know that it’s like totally not possible, because you are like 20 or something-”, which is another mistake, because yeah, you guessed her age wrong and now she is looking at you with that -annoyingly beautiful- smug smile and calls you _‘buttercup’_ , which by the way rude, because you are already hungry anyway.  
  
Your next sentence comes off your tongue, and yeah you could totally win in a competition for dumbassness, “Uhm, well 20 and 18 aren’t really that far away, I just uhm- _You know_ …” You don’t even know yourself what you mean by that. Maybe that she is hot either way?  
  
  
Say what?  
  
Who thinks that?  
  
Not you, that’s who.  
  
  
Your whole posture deflates and you sigh and try to rub off your awkwardness by scratching your temple. (You know that you are a little late for that.) You think you totally blew it with this stranger, when her soft, velvety voice hits your ears again.  
  
  
“Well, I let you touch me, without complaints, sweetheart. Do I at least get your name in exchange?”, ohmigod she has a voice that sounds like pure sin.  
  
However you just get nervous and really, really want to smack yourself, because you are being such a mess around this woman that you don’t even know. _Ugh._  
  
“Oh god, where are my manners?”, you extend your hand, “I’m Laura Hollis, and you are…?”  
  
She fixates your hand for several seconds and for a moment there you thought you saw something dark in her expression, but then she gives you a reserved smirk and touches your hand and you’re gone. You’re so gone that you almost don’t get her name.  
  
  
_Carmilla._  
  
She doesn’t give you her last name, which in retrospect, you shouldn’t have said yours either, because your dad always said, people can catfish you so easily with only knowing your name and- you shake off that thought, because you don’t want to turn into your dad. You loved him, but that man was paranoid.  
  
  
So.  
  
**Carmilla.**  
  
It sounds so powerful, mysterious and dark. You eye her meticulously, before deciding that it fits her perfectly. It is unique, just like the way she is. There has never been anyone that has captivated you like she did -within seconds. And you don’t let yourself get enraptured, because duh, you are the _Holly Golightly ‘I don’t belong to people’_ kinda girl, but you do get fascinated by her whole being.  
  
She is in a whole other league.  
  
And you’ve always been a sucker for the unreachable.  
  
  
You realize at some point that you’re still very much on the floor of this obviously not-so-clean train and scramble up and into your seat. She observes your every movement closely and there is an undecipherable expression on her face, but you are getting used to her being a mystery you won’t ever solve, because your train ride’s another six hours and then you won’t ever see her again.  
  
   
“What is an American girl doing in France?”, you hear yourself ask. Carmilla looks at you, calculating and that smirk returns.  
  
“Why would you say I am American?”  
  
“Because you sound totally like me, when you speak English. Why? Aren’t you?”  
  
  
She seems to think about your explanation and then shrugs in a way that frustrates you. Yeah, she is not good at all for you, because you want your answers and she likes to hide them. But this game she’s playing suits her so well.  
  
You don’t say anything else and neither does she. The book you took away from her some minutes ago is long forgotten, and she is just staring at you. You do the same, examine her, but she seems to see more than you and you can’t help, but wonder what it is you did that strikes her as that weird.  
  
A giggle leaves your mouth, because yeah, you are Laura Hollis. **Of course** she thinks you’re weird -she is frowning now, because she probably thinks you are a crazy person. You want to tell her that you really are not a weird creeper, but decide against it and this time you shrug and let your eyes scan the outside landscape.  
  
You can’t see much. She almost has covered the whole window, because of the sun, but you crouch a little and can make out the tiny little cows and goats or whatever the hell those things are.  
  
  
“Where are _you_ from?”  
  
I hits you off guard, you look at her, “Well, haven’t I given myself up already?”, you challenge her. You can do the whole mystery thing too.  
  
She smirks and you really, really shouldn’t like a stranger’s mouth so much, but you can’t help yourself, “Then let me paraphrase: _What_ are you doing in France?”  
  
“I have this travel blog and well, Paris is my next destination.”, dang it. You love talking about that and she totally got her answer from you without even trying and now you are frustrated again.  
  
Carmilla’s face shifts to a more thoughtful mien, and then she looks up at you through her lashes, “But you are only seventeen, shouldn’t you be in college or something?”  
  
You are thrown off by this girl. What the hell? Why does she know how old you are? Plus, rude! Is she judging you for not going to college?  
  
“I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet. Sorry that I’m not one of those people that go to college, solely, because their parents tell them to, or because it is _‘good’_ to go to school.”  
  
  
She contemplates on her answer for a moment, “I’m sure your father still is very proud of you. I did not mean to be rude.”, she says and it is so, so odd, because of many reasons.  
  
It doesn’t sound like something a stranger says to you with only knowing your name. Then, why is she only talking about your dad… The next words come out of your mouth without your consent, but they are out there anyways and all you hear is white noise and all you see is her worried face.  
  
“What?”, you filter out, so you repeat.  
  
“My parents. They are both dead.”, you don’t mean to say it so sadly. You don’t want her pity, but you can’t stand to hear her going on about things she has no idea of. Your dad probably wouldn’t be very proud of you. He would fear for your life, he has always handled you with so much care, as if you’d break.  
  
Usually people go for the stereotypical _‘I’m so sorry.’_ , but she isn’t saying a word. Her face twists into pain, as if she knows, what you are talking about. It’s the most compassionate thing you have encountered so far. And it is enough. Her eyes are as sad as yours, when you look into the mirror, thinking about them on lonely mornings.  
  
You both don’t talk much for the rest of the ride.

 

* * *

  
You sling your bag over your shoulders and leave the stranger -Carmilla- with a quick ‘bye’. Even though you know her name, you don’t know anything about her and she really doesn’t seem like someone, who plays well with others. You tell yourself that it’s just the way it is and move on. You learnt to do that in the past couple of months. Moving on.  
  
Not even five minutes into Paris, Gare de Lyon, and you instantly get this jittery feeling. A smile that’s so big that even you grow conscious of it. You really, really love traveling. And you’re starting to really, really like Paris. The train station reminds you a little bit of Grand Central (but it is a little nicer, although not so large probably).  
  
You hear people talking in French and you have no idea, what they are saying, which leaves you to your next problem. You really want to go out and explore the city, but you’re not sure how you will get to the center (or even if you are in near proximity to the center already), so you start to get out the guidebook for Paris you have bought back in Switzerland and find a bench to sit down and read it.  
  
  
“You’re looking at the wrong side of Paris, sweetheart.”, _she_ says and you are startled, because she is leaning in from behind and you can smell her. Carmilla’s scent really is clouding your mind.  
  
She plops down unceremoniously beside you and rests her arm behind you on the backrest and is smirking. You would love to wipe off that smirk. She is soooo infuriating. You narrow your eyes at her and continue to try finding where you are.  
  
  
“Do you need help?”  
  
Wow, she asks you if you need help. Where does that come from?  
  
“Hardly. I can find my way just fine, thank you very much.”, you don’t know why you are bugged by her so much. Maybe because you thought you could come off unaffected by her need to keep up her air of mystery, or maybe because you still are very, very hungry.  
  
“It would be wise of you to trust a local.”  
  
You look to her and then around you. She is right. You could totally ask the guy at the info point. You stand up and shove the guidebook into your bag and make your way to where a guy with a dubious mustache is sitting.  
  
  
“Excuse me, can you tell me how exactly I can reach the inner city? Do I-”, you stop immediately, because he doesn’t seem to understand you. The cliché with Frenchmen not speaking English? You really don’t like stereotypical sayings, but in this case it is true and you get more frustrated by the minute.  
  
“What do you need?”, it’s Carmilla again and you roll your eyes at her. How does she do that all the time? How is she so quiet, but yet so present?  
  
“In honesty? I need a huge-ass cheeseburger with extra mayo and fries, that is what I-”, you then realize that you have to draw money from a cashpoint and end your sarcastic banter, “I need an ATM- Oh my gosh! I have to draw money!”  
  
She just looks at mustache guy and then does something you never would have thought of her.  
  
“Où puis-je trouver un guichet automatique?”  
  
You don’t even pay attention after that. You honest to god just gape at Carmilla because of her perfect French and oh my god, you see her from the side for a long time and trace her sharp jaw with your eyes and she really does look good talking in French.  


* * *

  
You’re into your fifth cookie (seriously, you are considering to move to France permanently) and Carmilla still hasn’t touched her cupcake. You did want to thank her for helping you, so you invited her to join you for some snacks, before you hit up the city. Of course you haven’t anticipated her to say yes, but you are kind of glad, because you learn that Carmilla knows her way around and she even tells you where exactly you have to go and how to find all those things. Seems like she meant herself with the whole _‘It would be wise of you to trust a local.’_ This girl is just full of surprises and yeah, you kind of knew that already somehow.  
  
  
“Where’s your hotel?”, she asks you and you shrug, because you really haven’t looked into that.  
  
“I was hoping that I’d find a nice hostel or something. This whole thing is called _backpacking through Europe_ , I don’t really have the resources to stay in nice hotels.”  
  
She looks at you incredulously, and shakes her head, “You cannot stay in a run-down hostel.”  
  
It is cute, because this total stranger is worried for you, more than you are for yourself, but you don’t like her snobbish comment.  
  
“I’m gonna be fine. Trust me, I have been traveling for about two months now and it has been okay so far.”  
  
“Okay but…”, she is contemplating something, “Let me at least show you around. And then after that you can go on with your life…”  
  
The way she is looking at you expectantly, makes you wonder why someone you’ve met just a few hours ago would go so out of their way to- There has to be a reason for her to be so nice to you.  
  
  
“Wait, so… Are you a killer?”  
  
She is frowning and looking at you like you are the biggest crazy person, “What?”  
  
“I mean, are you trying to seduce me and then trying to kill me in a way that would qualify as post modern art, because I gotta warn you: I do know how to Krav Maga away your ass- just so you don’t try something fishy with me.”  
  
The girl narrows her eyes at you and then completely loses it. You know you are pretty funny, if you want to be, but that actually wasn’t meant to be a joke at all. Your deadpan expression gives her the impression, you think.  
  
“I am _not_ trying to seduce you.”, she winks.  
  
_Wait._  
  
She is trying to be funny now and throwing you off with her not denying that she is planning on killing you, right? Although, she totally would fit into that scene. You narrow your eyes and take in her whole appearance. Her dark jeans and that thick leather jacket. It is freaking July, by the way. She has aviators resting in her breast pocket, which makes her _extra shady_. You laugh at your own joke in your head, but then she is being serious and you pay attention to her.  
  
  
“Don’t you trust me?”, she quirks an eyebrow and holy crap you need to know, how she does them, because they look perfect- which totally not important right now (not when you’re about to get murdered).  
  
“Should I?”  
  
She chuckles and leans towards you. This little gesture takes your whole breath away, because she is so, so close and you are pretty sure, you’re gonna combust. Right here. Right now.  
  
“You are willing to sleep in beds that house _god-knows-what_ , but don’t trust me? What could I possibly do to you?”  
  
Carmilla is right. You know this much: she is not that much taller than you and that makes her anything but intimidating.  
  
  
“Let’s go sightseeing then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me over here: [angstfreehuman](http://angstfreehuman.tumblr.com/)


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